


don't go crying over spilt perfume (it smells like shit to you)

by ayamirin



Series: told you not to hold you breath [2]
Category: Bandom, I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Church, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Ambiguous Relationships, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Closeted Character, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Lots of Angst, Lots of Religious Guilt, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Not Beta Read, Other, Public Sex, Religious Guilt, Semi-Public Sex, Struggles with Sexuality, There's a Ton of Religious Guilt, This is Just an Angsty Story, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 22:05:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12067884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayamirin/pseuds/ayamirin
Summary: [Prequel to i'm making you (sweat)]Set two years prior to the events of I'm Making You Sweat.Brendon is the heir to the family business, a devoted Christian, and self-identifies as gay. While most would be able to embrace these characteristics, a strict religious upbringing coupled with being forced into the family business has kept him in the closet. He struggles with his sexuality and how it applies to the teachings of his religion. Coupled with his own family’s close ties to the church, everything is simply in a pressure cooker that’s about to explode.---------------"There's only so little he will admit to loving. He loves it when he can get under Dallon’s skin. Turn his love for him into frustration and hate. Loves it when he takes it out on him -- when harsh words fall from his lips like knives meant to cut deep. It all reminds Brendon how flawed he is, how fucked up he is. He doesn’t want to be his lover. His boyfriend. His whatever the fuck he wants to call their relationship. He wants to be his reminder of how corrupted they are. "





	don't go crying over spilt perfume (it smells like shit to you)

**Author's Note:**

> warning: there's a lot of religious guilt, exaggerations on the mormon religion to fit the narrative, and a main character that emotionally manipulates another person as a ways of taking out their frustration at their inability to cope with who they are. there's also dubious mentions of taking pleasure from inflicted pain. 
> 
> this story is written from the perspective of a person who has a very black and white view on the world. all and all, he's extremely flawed. pleeeaesseee read the endnotes for a more indepth explanation of this story.
> 
> yes. this is brallon. no, it's not happy brallon.
> 
> reader's discretion is advised.
> 
> (pssst it's fanfiction this never happened)

An old man preaches the word of God from the pulpit, his arms and hands moving around animatedly as he quotes from the Bible, stringing together verses to make a point about salvation and forgiveness of others. The men and women in the room nod when he drives the point home, summarizing the Word of God in ways that captivates the crowd and makes them understand. 

A young man, probably no older than twenty-eight, sits in the back of the church, in the end seat in the last row of the pews. He nods with crowd, sometimes he'll even praise the lord. He’ll stand up with the book of hymns and softly sing along with everyone. And when everything is done and the service is over, he waits for his family to make their way to the back of the church. His father walks alongside the priest, deep in discussion about whatever old men talk about in a church. His mother walks beside him, content with herself.

“ Oh Brendon, sitting back here again? We've missed you in the front of the pews.” The priest says once he notices Brendon standing by the last row in the aisle of the church. His parents look at him by, smiling happily. 

Brendon laughs, but it's a strained one. He puts a hand in his pocket as he runs his fingers through his short, black hair, “ It sounds a lot better from the back, Elder Price.”

The old man shakes his head with a smile.

“ We miss you and your voice in the front, Brendon. You have such a beautiful voice.”

His mother perks up, smiling, “ Remember how you would lead the hymns in the choir? I swear, the people around us would get goosebumps. You should really return to the choir, honey.”

“ I'd love to but I've been so busy with the company.” He looks at his father, a rather tall man with and grey hair. He nearly dwarfs Brendon’s mother, who's petite and short with black hair. “ Right, Dad?”

“ Yeah. That's true. You have been busy with the new clients.” His father says with a nod, “ But that shouldn't keep you from the house of the Lord, son.”

Brendon sighs and the pastor laughs, “ See? Looks like we're all in agreement here. I remember you wanted to be a pastor when you were young, but now you're following in your father’s footsteps. It's truly a loss to the church. No offense, Brother Urie.”

“ None taken, Elder Price.” His father smiles proudly at his youngest son, “ I remember that our boy wanted to be a pastor but my other kids seemed to have their own ambitions in mind that didn't align with the company. Brendon has really stood up in the family.”

“ It's a legacy we have to keep in the family. A legacy I'm proud of leading.” Brendon affirms with a smile. He walks over to his father, his mother stepping aside, allowing her son to wrap his arm around his father's shoulders and give him a firm side hug. He drops his hand and his father gives him a pat on the back.

“ Well, I’d love to see you next week up in the front with your parents instead of hiding in the back all the time. No need to be a stranger in your second home, Brendon!”

“ I'll try, Elder Price.”

The old man nods his head with a proud smile on his face. He bids the family farewell, walking back to the pulpit to retrieve his things. Brendon holds his arm out and his mother takes him on his offer, slipping her hand around his arm and lets him escort her out of the church, his father walking right beside him. 

“ I understand you're under a lot of stress with the job and all, but I would really like it if you sat with us again in the front.” His mother said softly and they made their way slowly down the steps

It is a nice and warm spring morning. There's no cloud in the sky, the sun is shining brightly above, and there's a gentle breeze that seems like light kisses against their skin. It's a stark contrast to the city, where Brendon resided, where the sky could barely be seen and peace and serenity could only be found at the grand park in the center of the city. 

But returning home every Sunday to the suburbs where he grew up to attend service with his family is like therapy for him. It's the moments away from the hustle and bustle that he can recollect himself and refocus on the week ahead. It's always nice for him to see tree lined streets, kids playing on the the sidewalks, old retirees walking their dogs, and the overall picturesque of America’s suburbia.

“ I'm fine in the back, mom. I'm fine.”

They make it down the last step. The parking lot is nearly empty, save for a few cars belonging to the church staff. A black Mercedes Benz sits in the parking lot against the collection of Hondas and Toyotas; obviously the owners being the old Urie couple, co-partners of the Urie Smith and Partners advertising agency. But despite being the third generation of owners, the family lived modestly in the suburbs. Close to the church.

Their lives were guided by the church. Every Sunday at nine a.m, everyone wore their Sunday best and sat at the front pew to listen to Elder Price teach the word of God to his congregation. His mother was even the church choir leader and the pianist. Once it was discovered that her youngest son could keep a note, he was placed in the choir as well.

Being raised in the church and active in the sermons made Brendon consider following the path towards priesthood. The congregation loved him and because of that, Elder Price allowed him lead some of the sermons just before he left for his two year missionary work in France. Everything seemed to go according to some laid out plan -- his older brother’s journey was to take over the family business and his journey was to take him down the path of the Lord.

But, life isn’t a predetermined plan. It's unpredictable. Suddenly Samuel doesn't want to take over the family business and join the advertising agency. He moves to Hawaii and join the efforts of preserving the native language and culture, connecting with their mother’s side of the family and devoting himself to the island. It's a passion of his; he's always been attracted to the island and his heritage. The family business was never what he wanted to do.

And, well, family is everything. Brendon couldn't say  _ no _ to filling his brother’s shoes. Susan’s husband may have been his brother-in-law and maybe have already been employed at that agency, but his brother-in-law was a Davenport, not a Urie and there's been three generations of Uries at the head of that executive table, not Davenports. 

“ Just saying, dear.” His mother says, patting her son’s arm. 

She pulls her arm from him and stands by the sidewalk as they watch her husband go and get the car. 

“ Next week I'll sit up front.” Brendon says after a moment. “ I'll even sing in the choir. Just for you.”

The Mercedes pulls up to the sidewalk. His mother smiles at him, pulling him into an embrace. He hunches over, making up for her short stature, and she rakes her fingers through his hair lovingly. She pecks his cheek.

“ You are such a good son. God has truly blessed us.” She whispers in his ear. She pulls away, holding her son’s face in her hands, her thumbs tracing his cheekbone lightly. “ My beautiful boy. Are you okay? Do you need a ride?”

Brendon shakes his head, “ I'm fine. I uber’d over.” 

Giving his cheeks a soft pat, she lets him go and opens the passenger side door. His father leans over the center dash and looks up at his son. Brendon bends down a bit to get a better look at the older man. He waves at him and his father waves back.

“ Have a safe trip back, son. See you tomorrow.” 

“ Yeah, same to you.”

His mother gives him another, small, smile before getting inside the car. The door closes and it takes off out of the parking lot. Brendon releases a breath as if he was holding it in for the last two hours. He runs a hand down his face and undoes his grey tie slightly, letting it hang around his neck loosely. He reaches into the pocket of his slacks and pulls out his iPhone. Resting a hand on his hip, he swipes through his contact lists and taps on a name.

***

“ S-shit. D-don't fucking do that.” Brendon hisses as he grabs ahold of brown locks of hair and tries pulls the man’s head from the crook of his neck. The man groans in protest, shrugging out of Brendon's grasp and sitting up in the backseat. His limbs are too long for the small confines the grey Lexus parked in an alleyway between warehouses. 

Blue eyes look down into dark brown ones, a visible gleam of annoyance behind them. With a sigh, Dallon Weekes runs his hands through his hair, messing it up in the process. Brendon frowns at him, lips wet and swollen, his dress shirt unbuttoned and falling off of one, skinny shoulder. His chest rises and falls quickly, his breathing hard from his arousal. Dallon doesn't look much different.

“ What's the problem now?”

“ I told you to not to be sucking on my neck like that.”

“ I'm not going to bruise you.”

“ I don't want to take the risk, okay?” He rests an elbow against the window panel and leans his head against his open palm. The position is slightly uncomfortable and the edge of the panel is digging into his elbow.

Fucking cars and their small, uncomfortable back seats.

Dallon crosses his arms over his chest, “ But you can bite me and mark me up, right?”

“ It's not the same.”

“ Fuck. My back hurts.” Dallon mumbles as he tries to stretch and move to a more comfortable position. His limbs are cramping and his back muscles are straining from his hunched over position between Brendon’s legs. “ Are we going to do this or are we going to cater to your closeted gay man issues.”

“ Okay, says the literal walking oxymoron: gay Mormon priest.”

“ At least I’m out the closet,” He narrows his eyes, “ Unlike you.”

Brendon laughs, “ To who exactly? Me? Who else knows Elder Weekes picks up Brother Urie after service every Sunday to fuck him in the back of a fucking rental car in the warehouse district?”

“ Shut up.”

“ Or the trips he takes every month to Las Vegas to get the gay itch out of his system.” He pauses, raises his eyebrows, “  _ Oh _ , so that’s when you’re out of the closet. When you’re in a gay club hundreds of miles from home where nobody knows.”

“ I can be gay as long as I don’t act on it. The church acknowledges it so I’m  _ fine _ .”

“ The church acknowledges it so you can feel like shit. It’s double handed bullshit.” 

Brendon pushes Dallon off of him, gripping onto the headrest of the front passenger seat to push himself up. Dallon curses as he falls backwards onto the door when Brendon swings his legs from under Dallon’s, sitting properly in the backseat. He pops up the collar of his white oxford shirt and begins to button his shirt. 

“ What are you doing?”

“ I don’t want to do this now.” Brendon mumbles as his fingers stumble over each other. “ Fucking destroyed my boner with all this church talk. I just spent two hours listening to old man Price condemn the liberals and their homosexual agenda and now I gotta have that shit regurgitated with your hypocritical self.” 

“ You  _ called _ me.” 

“ And?” Brendon ties his tie. He pushes the knot up and flips the collar back down. He looks at Dallon. “ I called you to pick me up.”

“ And fuck.”

“ Yeah.” He adjusts his tie, a frown on his face, “ And that.” 

Without warning, Brendon crawls over the center dash between the two front seats. Dallon slaps his feet out of his face as Brendon flops into the passenger seat carelessly. He grabs his jacket off the dashboard and fishes in one of the pockets for a pack of cigarettes. Dallon opens the backseat door and gets out the car. He slams the door shut, the car shaking from the impact of the door hitting the frame and opens the driver’s side door. Brendon shakes a cigarette out of the pack and puts it between his lips.

“ What are you doing?” Dallon asks plainly as he gets in the car. Brendon pulls a lighter from the pocket after shoving the crumbled box back in. 

“ I'm smoking a cigarette.” He says, words mumbled as he tries to light the cigarette. Dallon reaches out and snatches the cigarette from Brendon’s lips. He tosses it outside and slams the door shut. 

“ What the fuck, Dallon?! You can't do that!”

“ Can't you read or are you that dumb, Urie?!” He yells pointing to the large “ No Smoking or Face a 200 Dollar Cleaning Fee “ sticker above the navigation system. Brendon scoffs and shoves the lighter in his pocket. “ I don't know what I see in you. You're just a rich spoiled brat.”

“ Obviously its for my tight ass. That’s all you ever fucking grunt when we fuck anyway.” Brendon says dryly with a roll of his eyes. Dallon’s jaw tightens.

“ And you’re a crude asshole.”

They sit in the car in a tense silence staring ahead down the alleyway to a dead end where a concrete graffiti wall stood. The car was halfway into the alley, far away from the street where anyone could get a look of what was going on inside of the vehicle. The builds surrounding the alley were abandoned and empty, relics from the Industrial Period when industry boomed and the train brought in much work to the city. With half of the industrial complex abandoned, it made for the perfect hiding spot for two closeted men to have a quick fuck without getting caught.

Dallon tapped on the driver’s wheel with his index finger, chewing on his lower lip in thought. He looked at Brendon from the corner of his eye. The man got under his skin and it annoyed him how he couldn’t figure out a way to just let him go. They weren’t even from the same social class -- Brendon was from old money and Dallon was from a working class, traditional home of priests. Both grew up Mormon, both families large and devoted to the church. But that was it; that was the only thing the two had in common.

And even there lied differences. 

Dallon met Brendon during their missionary work in Europe. They were partnered together and Dallon quickly grew attracted to Brendon’s outward, boisterous personality. While Dallon had self control and was reserved, Brendon was his complete opposite. He lacked control and was too open to try anything, even going as far as sneaking off late into the night without telling anyone what he was doing. He liked to blame it on the ADHD and Dallon would laugh, because it was funny poor excuse for bad behavior.

It didn’t bother Dallon at first -- Brendon was a grown man and he had the right to do whatever he wanted. But, while Dallon has self control, he’s also a curious man. It was his curiosity on one hot summer night on a Saturday that Dallon followed Brendon into Le Marais, the gay district of Paris. 

It was that night that Dallon found out that Brendon was gay.

Not just gay. Openly gay. 

And maybe it was the air or perhaps even the mood of the bar, but that night Dallon realized he was attracted to the little imp. So, when he approached Brendon at the small nightclub, he finally threw inhibition aside and kissed him. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t even accuse him. He kissed the shocked twenty year old. 

He kissed back.

And he gave him a blow job in a dirty bathroom stall.

So began their little affair. By day, they rode around on bikes spreading the Word of the Lord and by night they snuck out of the commune, renting cheap motels around Le Marais to roll around in cheap sheets, smoke cigarettes, and drink cheap liquor. Sinning like the rest of the apostates that lived in Le Marais. 

He felt free those two years. No one knew their little secret that only they kept between themselves. Figuratively and literally. 

But, all things come to an end, and like their mission, so did their time in Paris. They returned home, two years older, and though he thought they had changed, it amazed Dallon how quickly they fell back in to their regular scheduled program. Dallon almost thought, had hoped, that they would run away together -- left the church and just live together somewhere away from prying eyes -- but Brendon wasn’t that type of guy.

No. Whatever… whoever he was in Paris was not the man in the suit sitting next to him in that Lexus with swollen lips and a frown on his face. The man he met in Paris wasn’t Brendon Urie. The man he is sitting next to right now is Brendon Urie. Conflicted, confused, and a hypocrite. 

A hypocrite that Dallon finds impossible to let go. A struggle he has been having for eight years. 

A fleeting two year affair that would rival a romance novel. Six years of hookups in alleyways and motels. Laughter and yelling. Anger and happiness. Even moments where he thought he would cry; though he would never allow Brendon the pleasure of seeing him cry. That would admit to the truth that those tears were because of  _ him _ .

And Dallon would never let Brendon have that advantage over him.

Dallon grips the wheel.

“ Get out.”

“ What?”

“ I said, _get_ _out_.” 

Brendon turns his head to look at Dallon and blinks. He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, “ You’re joking. Right?”

Dallon reaches over Brendon and opens the door. He pushes it open and quickly sits back in his seat, “ I didn’t stutter. Get out!”

Not knowing what else to do, Brendon grabs his jacket and gets out of the car. He gives Dallon the middle finger before slamming the door shut. The car starts up, the engine revving as Dallon taps on the gas, and then he switches the gear into the reverse. The car speeds out of the alleyway, leaving Brendon standing alone in a puddle of stagnant water. He looks at his shoes and curses, stepping out of the puddle. He kicks the wet grime off of his shoe.

“ Fuck you, you emotional fuck!” Brendon yells at the reversing car, flailing his jacket in the air. His arm falls to his side and he stands there for a few seconds, breathing heavily, “ How am I supposed to get back into town…”

The car stops before it reaches the main road. Brendon watches it warily, not knowing what the driver has planned. The area is abandoned so there’s no way he’s stopping to check for traffic. There must be something else wrong if Dallon is just parked at the end of the alleyway. A moment later, the car is revving up again and it's speeding down the alleyway. Brendon scurries out of the path of the car as it comes directly at him, abruptly slamming to a stop just a mere meter away from his feet.

The car shuts off. Dallon quickly gets out of the car and stalks over to Brendon. Without any warning, he grabs Brendon by his hair and pulls his head back, forcing a kiss on him. Brendon struggles, at first, but then he eventually reciprocates the kiss, biting back and forcing his smaller stature against Dallon’s taller one. It’s a fight of wills, the two men shoving and pushing against each other until they reach the hood of the car. Dallon breaks the kiss with a dirty pop and pushes Brendon against the hood. The younger man falls against it, holding his hands out to break the fall with his hands.

“ You’re insane.” Brendon says, licking his lips. He can taste the faint trace of blood on his lips. He grins, “ So we’re gonna do this nice and rough, hun?”

“ I hate you.” Dallon growls, stepping into Brendon’s space and grabbing the man by his biceps. He forcefully turns the man around and Brendon braces himself against the hood with his hands, leaning over enough to present his ass.

“ Don’t fucking mark me,” Brendon says, a hand reaching for the button of his slacks. He pops it open and quickly unzips his pants. “ I will bite your dick off if you try.”

He feels Dallon’s hands at his hips and chuckles, pulling his lower lip between his teeth once he feels the air hit the bare skin of his ass as Dallon yanks his pants and boxer briefs down to his knees. He can hear Dallon unzip his pants and work himself. He grabs onto his own dick, softly stroking it.

“ No lube, not bothering to grab a condom,” Dallon mumbles as he spits onto his hand. He strokes his dick and then, without saying anything, takes his two fingers and press them against Brendon’s mouth. The young man opens his mouth and allows Dallon to slip his fingers in. “ You’re lucky I’m doing this.”

Brendon sucks on the digits greedily, making sure to thoroughly wet them. His saliva was all they had to make this fuck session bearable and he wasn't going to let Dallon fuck him up by going in dry. Dallon pulls his fingers from Brendon’s mouth and presses them against his asshole.

Brendon sucks in a breath between his teeth in anticipation, “ You’re more fun when you’re mad, Elder Weeke--- _fuck...._ _Shit…_. That fucking… _burns_.”

Dallon pushes his fingers inside Brendon, cutting him off and catching the younger man by surprise. Brendon licks his lips, spreading his legs as wide as he can as he tries to accommodate to Dallon finger fucking him, stretching him enough so that he doesn’t get hurt. 

Hurt.

Hun. How funny.

Dallon pulls his fingers out and Brendon groans from the lack of pressure. He looks over his shoulder, one hand stroking himself while the other hand is pressed against the hood, holding his weight up. Dallon grabs his hardened cock with his wet hand, stroking it as he looks at Brendon. He looks at his flushed cheeks, his wet red and swollen lips, his mussed hair…

This is what sin looks like. 

This is what sin feels like. 

Pain.

Pain for pleasure.

Brendon hates it when Dallon wants to play ‘boyfriend’. He is not his boyfriend. He doesn’t love him. He hates it when he looks at the taller man and see nothing but love behind his eyes. He hates when he tries to mark him or kiss him softly or try to make it pleasurable. He hates it. Hates it.  _ Hates it _ .

He wants to feel pain. He wants to feel shame. This is not supposed to be enjoyable. Sex with another man is a sin. 

Sin is supposed to be painful. 

Sinful sex is supposed to hurt. This sex is  _ supposed _ to hurt. There shouldn't be any pleasure to it. The feeling of the car’s hood pressed against his pelvis, the heated chrome burning his skin as he’s pushed against it with each heavy, sharp thrust from Dallon. The burning pressure from the lack of lube. There's no attempt at hitting his prostate; it's rough and quick with the focus of getting off. This pain is supposed to happen. This is the price he needs to pain for his sinning. His weekly reminder that he is a flawed human unworthy of being saved.

A moan slips from Brendon’s lips as he subconsciously leans forward, adjusting his position to encourage Dallon to adjust his angle and to hit that spot that would make him crumble. That spot that makes him want to lean into Dallon, kiss him, hold him close, and melt right into his touch. Where he'll end up mumbling sweet nothings and encouragement, apologies and half-truths. Then, only when it's all done, blame it on the heat of the moment and cast him aside.

He  _ hates _ it.

There's only so little he will admit to loving. He loves it when he can get under Dallon’s skin. Turn his love for him into frustration and hate. Loves it when he takes it out on him -- when harsh words fall from his lips like knives meant to cut deep. It all reminds Brendon how flawed he is, how fucked up he is. He doesn’t want to be his lover. His boyfriend. His whatever the fuck he wants to call their relationship. He wants to be his reminder of how corrupted they are. 

How God has forsaken them.

His hands lie sprawled against the hood, sweat building at the palms, slipping as he tries to steady himself. He presses himself against Dallon’s pelvis, meeting the man thrust for thrust. Their skin slapping against each other echos against the concrete walls of the alleyway. They don’t make any sound; just muffled grunts and moans between sealed lips. 

It doesn't take much longer for Dallon to come deep inside Brendon with a muffled grunt and a shaken jerk of his body as he falls forward, hunched over Brendon’s sweaty frame, as he bites into his clothed shoulder. Brendon hangs his head, taking shaken breaths as he tries to get off on the feeling of being filled with hot, sticky cum. Dallon pulls out of him slowly and the white substance leaks from his stretched hole.

Brendon’s legs give out on him and he stumbles forward, knees hitting the floor dirty alleyway pavement. He spits onto his cock a few times, using the spit as lube to slacken and quicken his strokes. He can hear Dallon fix himself behind him, but the sounds grow fainted against the pulsing beating of his heartbeat against his ears as he inches closer to coming.

“ …  _ Fuck _ …!”

He comes into his fisted hand. Hot streaks of white cum hit the floor and his hand, some getting on his grey slacks. He lifts his head up, facing the sky as he tries to steady his breathing, his hand slowly leaving his cock and for the hood of the Lexus. He licks his lips, cum smearing onto the grey colored surface of the car as he tries to stand up.

“ I hate you….” Dallon says as he watches Brendon pull up his boxer briefs and pants. He can see his cum trailing down from between Brendon’s ass cheeks and inner thigh. It sort of makes him feel smug, almost celebratory with the sense that he claimed him. 

Brendon scoffs, a shaky tinge to his voice from the sex, “ Next week you'll be sucking my dick and saying you love me. We both know you don't mean what you say.”

He pulls up his zipper and buttons his slacks. His boxer briefs stick to the cum smeared against his backside. Fucking hell, this was not in plans for today.

Dallon clicks his tongue.

“ There won't be a next week.” Dallon grumbles as he walks over to the driver side of the car. His eyes drift over to the smeared cum on the hood. He has to take the car to the wash now and he knows that Brendon definitely will not foot the bill, “ Or a week after that.”

“ You say things and you don't mean them.” Brendon picks up his jacket off the floor. He shakes the dirt out of it. “ Twenty minutes ago you told me to fuck off. Fifteen minutes ago you came back, fucked me relentlessly, made sure to cum in me without my fucking permission, mind you, and then just now expects me to believe that you won't be doing this again next week.”

“ Fuck you, Brendon. There won't be a next week.”

Brendon looks at Dallon, unfazed by the snippy remark, because he knows they'll be right back to repeating this cruel and selfish cycle of disappointment.

***

Humans are predictable creatures. They function on ingrained habits and learned behavior. Some of it is positive and constructive, but most of it is negative and self destructive. 

“ What's on your neck?” His older brother asks him as they sat at the dining table in their parents house. Brendon brings a hand to his neck.

Humans are stupid creatures doomed to repeat their mistakes.

“ Nothing, Sam. Just a, uh, mosquito bite.” Brendon laughs a strained laugh. “ Pass me the potatoes, mom?”

His brother grins, eyes twinkling with mischievous delight. A look Brendon was all too familiar with. It was a look that came with years spent being chewed out by his parents for something he didn't quite do or something his brother had found out and decided to embarrass him in front of the entire family for it. 

One time in particular has stuck itself in the back of Brendon’s mind for years. It was a moment where Sam caught him masturbating in his room when he was seventeen. His brother was home for the Christmas holiday and Brendon didn't think to lock his bedroom door, creating the perfect storm. Sam, finding the scene of his brother lying in his bed masturbating hilarious, decided to tell their parents. After a firm chastising from their father, Brendon was stuck having to suffer the consequences over the next three days --- praying away the temptation and talks with Elder Price about the purity of a body before marriage.

He loved his brother but the love couldn't make up for the resentment he felt for him every waking day. It should have been Sam sitting in that office in a suit as their father’s right hand. He was the oldest -- not him, the youngest son. They even paid for his business degree. It was clearly indicative that he was to go. He was  _ supposed _ to go. Why did they let him fuck off to Hawaii, Brendon never quite understood. Though, even if his brother were to explain it, it would never be good enough.

Their mother passes Brendon the plate of potatoes and he takes it into his hand, serving himself two ladles worth of a mashed mix of cream, butter and starch.

“ I live in Maui, you know, and we get some big mosquitoes out there. That is not a mosquito bite.”

Brendon puts the plate down and picks up his spoon, “ Whatever you're thinking, it's not that. I know what you're trying to do, Sam. I'm not going there.”

He dips his spoon into the potatoes with a bit more force than necessary. The hickey feels like a sunburn against his throat. He quietly adjusts the collar of his dress shirt, popping the collar enough with one hand to hide the blue and red sore against his lower neck. Another week. Another Sunday. A random hotel room. The same man between his legs. 

The cycle continues.

He warned Dallon against doing that and he did it anyway. Yet, he would not admit to liking or encouraging him. No, he wasn't willingly encouraging him to continue because that would only justify Dallon’s feelings for him and further cement his own fears and denials about their relationship. 

He fucked up. Now he had to come up with a solution to the problem. Things are teetering out of control with him.

“ Now, now. Can we not fight at the table. Samuel’s flown a lot of hours to be here with us and the least we can do is have a peaceful dinner.”

“ I guess you found a girl?” Sam says idly as he cuts through his steak. “ I didn't think you'd have it in you but it's nice to know my little brother is finally living life instead of under the shadow of the company.”

“ Wait, you have a girlfriend and haven't told us?” His father asks him with perked interest. For most of the dinner, he sat silently eating his steak and potatoes, but the topic of one of his children settling down garnered his attention. Especially concerning his youngest; he was worried about the young man. “ Why haven’t we met her yet? How old is she? Does she attend the church?”

Brendon picks up his glass of water. 

“ No, I don't… have a girlfriend and this isn't what you think it is. Can we talk about something other than me now?” He takes a few sips and puts the glass down.

“ Why? I mean, you should be dating now or at least trying to settle down, dear.” His mother says simply, as if suggesting that it is so easy for her son to find a good girl and settle down. “ All your other siblings are married so I don't see why you're not.”

“ They're also several years older than me, Mom.”

“ They all got married around your age.”

“ Twenty seven is hardly a year to rush things.” 

“ I'm just concerned for your wellbeing…”

“ Well,” Brendon picks up his napkin that lied next to his plate, “ There's no need to worry. If God wants me to marry, he will provide a partner for me. He has a plan for me and if it is in those plans it will happen. Why waste time worrying about the now when we need to focus making sure we all strive to be proper children of the Lord.”

“ Well spoken, son. You are exactly right that our lives are planned by the Lord.” Their father says with a nod.

Sam whistles and then claps, “ Bravo. Spoken like the preacher you were meant to be, little brother.”

Brendon frowns at his brother, “ Don’t patronize me.”

“ I’m honestly not.” Sam cuts his piece of steak into a smaller chucks, focusing on the meat rather than his brother, “ I just think that you need to be a lot truthful with yourself.”

“ I am happy with my truth.” Brendon wipes his hands with the napkin and throws the maroon colored cloth down on the table with a huff. He pushes his chair back. “ Why are we talking about me? Why don't we tal about Sam and his failing marriage?”

“ Brendon! That was uncalled for.” His mother tells him sharply. 

“ I did what you asked of me to do. Which was pick Sam up at the airport. Besides, I'm just stating the obvious. He's here because his wife kicked him out the house.” Brendon stands up and grabs his coat from the backrest of the chair. He puts it on. “I think I’m going to head back home. It was nice seeing you again, Sam.” He walks over to his mother and places a quick kiss on her cheek. “ I will see you at church, okay? Dinner was great.”

“ Sam will be attending service with us next Sunday. You should sit with us in the front. Also, Elder Weekes is going to do a guest sermon at the church, and seeing how you two are friends, it would be rude not to sit in the front..” Their father says from the opposite end of the table. He doesn't look at Brendon; he simply focused on eating his dinner. 

Brendon jaw tightens. He didn't know Dallon was going to be attending their church next Sunday. Why would he do that considering his church is in a town miles away? The man has something planned and Brendon does not like not knowing what it is. But he can't let his frustration be so blatantly obvious because Sam was a person that picked up on things too easily.

The young man doesn't even have to look at his brother to know that the older man is staring at him with a confused expression. Something is wrong and he can sense it. Why wouldn't their most holy of holy sibling not want to sit in the front pews when that was all that he did growing up? The questions hang from his tongue, threatening to spill onto the dinner table. Sam wants to know.

But Brendon won't let him know.

The situation unnerves him but he doesn't allow himself to give in and display it. He only smiles at his father.

“ Y-yeah. Sure. I'll do that.”

***

A desk with a plaque on it that says, _ The therapist is in. 10 cents, _ separates the two future co-owners of the multimillion dollar advertising firm.

Spencer Smith is an interesting person. Tall, sharp witted, yet quiet, Brendon has known this man his entire life and yet he still doesn't  _ know _ him. He grew up in the embrace of the church, Spencer grew up in the embrace of Nickelodeon and Fox Kids. The only time Brendon ever had a chance to drink soda or drink coffee was whenever he attended a family event involving the Smiths. The first time Brendon ever had a sip of Coca Cola, the reaction alone sent Spencer into a wild fit of giggles at Brendon's expense. 

They did not attend the same schools. Spencer went to a private boarding school out of state, Brendon went to a LDS sanctioned private school within the community. The only time they would hang out together was during the various semester breaks and holidays.

Spencer always wanted to work for the company. He had always a passion for numbers and the inner workings of business administration. Brendon simply wanted to be creative and sing. They are polar opposites only bound together by the business that their great grandfathers had started decades ago. 

Despite their differences, Spencer is the only person Brendon can trust. He trusts him over his family members. Over his friends. He does not even trust Dallon. Brendon has told this man so many secrets he's surprised they're still able to work together to casually knowing what lies in his closet.

“ You should just resign,” Spencer says and then throws a peanut up in the air. He catches it with his mouth. “ You look miserable.”

“ I  _ can't  _ resign. There's no one left to take after the company.”

“ There's your brother-in-law James.” Spencer pours more honey roasted peanuts in his hand and plops one in his mouth. He throws one at Brendon and he catches it with ease. The two of them chuckle.

“ He's not an Urie. That's like one of your sister’s boyfriend's taking your spot.” Brendon reasons. He motions for another peanut.

“ True. Catch.” A peanut flies in Brendon’s direction. Another flawless catch. “ You just look miserable. I'm sure your, uh, personal dilemma isn't helping either.”

Brendon runs a hand down his face with a loud groan. Other than Dallon, Spencer was the only person that knew of his sexuality. It was by accident -- Brendon had a crush on him back in high school, and shortly before the end of their spring break vacation, he had confessed to the teenager his feelings after a night of video games and some liquid courage from Spencer’s parents’ liquor cabinet.

An awkward kiss followed by a “what are you doing” and the secret was out. Spencer laughed it off and Brendon started crying because it wasn't supposed to happen that way. Spencer was supposed to kiss him back. They were supposed to jerk each other off and explore their newly found sexuality. Now Spencer knew the star choir boy is a homosexual. He could run out into the streets and let the entire world know the truth. Destroy his life just like that; it wasn't like they were close friends. Just two boys that grew up together due to their parent’s business relationship.

Spencer has nothing to lose by outing Brendon.

But Brendon learned from that moment what made Spencer such a great person -- he didn't care. He kept his secret. None of it mattered. The only thing Spencer was concerned about was Brendon’s happiness. In fact, Spencer has always been that voice of encouragement.

Be you. Live your life. Live your truth.

“ That's not going to improve no matter what I do.” Brendon dryly says with a roll of his eyes.

“ You're still with that guy, right? The one you met on your mission.” 

Brendon reluctantly nods and Spencer sighs.

“ It's complicated.”

“ You make it complicated. From what you've told me, he wants to run away with you to San Francisco and get married.”

“ Why would you… put it  _ that _ way.”

“ Okay, Miami, then.”

“ Damnit, Spencer.”

“ I'm just saying.”

Brendon pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes for a few brief seconds. 

“ I have six nieces and seven nephews between my four older siblings. You would think my parents would leave me alone about finding someone, getting married, and having a family. But they're not and it's stressing me out.”

Spencer finishes the peanuts, “ Because you're the unfortunate heir to the Urie legacy.” He wipes his hands as he mumbles about the trend in large families within Brendon’s church, “ I plan on having one kid. So there won't be any need for a reenactment of the Lion King once I pass through pearly gates. Can't imagine a tribe. I don't know how you people do it with the wolf packs of children.”

“ My mother just wants another excuse to buy baby things. My father, well, it's like you said about the legacy thing. So yeah. I have no idea how much longer I can continue living like this.”

“ Doesn't your church have something going on with like… making it alright for you to live outside the closet?”

“ You mean being called an apostate as I wave my little pride flag? The only way I can secure my pathway to heaven is if I marry a woman and fight my gay urges?Yeah, I rather stay in my closet.” 

“ I don't know what to say,” Spencer leans back in his work chair and crosses his arms. “ You're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't. If it were me, though, and if I was in  _ your  _ shoes, I would try to find my truth and do what makes me happy.”

“ So you are telling me to run off and get married to a preacher and leave everything behind.” Brendon sums up dryly. He looks at his business partner as if he suggested something insanely stupid. Spencer shrugs like it was nothing.

“ I'm saying to do what makes you feel happy. Run away to Vegas and get hitched!” He grins, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Though, a gay Vegas wedding sounds  _ really _ exciting to see. If you do get married, I'll totally be your best man. I  _ so _ gotta be there.”

Spencer starts laughing as Brendon rolls his eyes. He crosses his legs and grumbles about not marrying Dallon as his childhood friend laughs at the mental images conjuring in his head of Brendon in a wedding dress getting married to the tall preacher. Once the two kiss passionately like a couple in a forties melodrama in his little mind’s theater he snickers some more, wiping a tear away from the corner of his eye.

Eventually the two settle into a mutual silence. One sitting in a chair with his fingers folded together on his chest as he looked up at the ceiling while the other checked his smartphone for messages and emails. 

“ If I gave everything up,” Brendon begins as his thumb swipes through an inbox of unread messages. “ Quit the company. Come out the closet and leave to… live my own truth as you say…. What would you do?”

Brendon’s eyes don't leave his phone. He's slightly hunched over with the phone between his hands. Spencer watches him and reads his body language: the tense shoulders, the way he isn't looking at him… the way he worries his lower lip and taps his foot on the floor. He sits up and runs his fingers through his hair. 

“ I would wish you good luck and hope that James isn't a complete asshole.”

Brendon tastes blood in his mouth.

***

“ Why the hotels?” 

“ Because I'm tired of pulling my hamstring being folded into a pretzel in the back of your car.” A drag from a cigarette. Exhale. “ I'm not a tiny little woman. I don't do splits.”

“ Obviously you're not a woman. I can tell by the stubble on your chin and that baritone voice of yours.”

Brendon sucks on the end of his cigarette as he watches the old CRT television screen air the eleven o’clock nightly news. The cheap plastic ashtray rests on top of his chest, filled already with two stubbed out cigarettes in sea of white ash. He lies on top of the sheets, bare to the world, red marks and bruises over his thighs and and abdomen. Next to him, Dallon is lying on his back, under the sheets with his modesty intact, a television remote in his hand.

“ Do you think God plans these things?”

“ Plans what?”

“ They tell us our lives are already planned out for us. God has a plan and we are living it. So,” Brendon takes another drag, he continues as the smoke leaves his lungs, “ that gas station clerk that just got shot and killed in that robbery… did God just put in that man’s plans, ‘ Mark McNamara will die at the age of twenty two from a gunshot wound to the stomach while working for eight bucks an hour at a Seven Eleven?’ Like, did God planned for two meth heads to take that man’s life?”

Dallon purses his lips as he watches the news report on the armed robbery. The suspects are still on the loose and there's a reward for any leads to their arrest. He spins the remote in his hand once, then again.

“ God plans things. I don't think it's entirely mapped out but he guides us through our faith. We are still in control of our destiny. God did not take our agency away.” Dallon looks at Brendon. “ What's with the sudden bible school?”

“ I just want to know why would God plan for an innocent man to die such a horrible death.”

“ Well, the Devil is out there offering temptation and temptation leads directly into sin. Sometimes the sin we commit affects the innocent.”

Brendon stubbs the cigarette out and places the ashtray on the night stand next to him. He sits up on the bed, fluffing the pillows behind him to support his back against the old, scuffed headboard.

“ If God plans out our lives, why would he plan for some of us to be gay. I didn't choose to be this way. God made me this way so why would he do this to his children if it's so wrong?”

Dallon sighs and changes the channel. It's the hotel information channel.

“ Enough television for you.”

“ Suddenly the preacher wants to change the topic.”

“ I rather  _ not _ discuss this with you because every time we do have this discussion, you turn into an insufferable little brat.”

“ You don't want to have this conversation because it means you have to come to terms to admitting the truth.”

Dallon laughs, “ I am  _ quite fine  _ with my truth, Brendon. You, on the other hand, are not and I don't want to discuss this anymore with  _ you _ .”

“ I am  _ fine  _ with who I am.” Brendon says tensely as he drops one leg onto the floor. His toes graze the hard, cheap carpet floor as he swings his leg idly. 

“ Really now?” Dallon sits up and turns around to face Brendon, “ Really now? Because I remember quite vividly of me wanting to take this whole relationship further  _ years _ ago and you turned me down, crying about your stupid family business.”

“ I _can’t_ marry you!”

“ Who said anything about marriage?! All I wanted from you was your love and companionship. That's all! Not  _ this _ .”

Brendon reaches over to the nightstand and picks up his near empty pack of cigarettes. He pulls out a cigarette, bites on the filter and quickly lights it. He takes a drag and then exhales, holding the cancer stick between his fingers.

“ That's the fourth one this night.” Dallon remarks dryly. Brendon glares at Dallon and takes another drag. 

“ Sue me.” He says with billow of smoke. 

Dallon starts laughing and it dies with a defeated sigh, “ This is why I can't do this anymore.”

“ Do what? I think what we have is mutually beneficial to the both of us. I don't get why you have to be so fucking emotional.” Brendon mumbles, picking at the cum stained sheets idly.

“ My God… you called me out of the blue on a  _ Thursday _ night because you needed to  _ talk _ . I drove out my way, into the city, to listen to what you had to say but then we end up here. We didn't even talk. Then again, what was I expecting here? We never fucking talk. We just fuck and yell at each other afterwards.” He looks outside the window of their hotel room. The view is only of a brick wall. “ Never once have you ever made that sacrifice for me. Never.”

“ In Paris--”

“ In Paris you weren't an insufferable  _ prick _ . You actually were likeable. I fell for that Brendon. I wanted that Brendon to be with me. N-not this angry and confused closet case.”

“ Unlike you, I have obligations. I can't just ride off into the sunset with you and have a happy gay ol’ life somewhere. That's what  _ you  _ don't understand.”

“ Oh, I understand. Which was why I was prepared to leave the church behind to make us work. But it's more than that with you.” Dallon pulls the sheets off of him and gets off the bed. Brendon watches the tall man search the room for his clothes with a frown on his face. He brings the cigarette to his lips and takes another drag.

“ What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Dallon ignores Brendon, dropping his clothes onto the bed. He grabs a navy blue oxford shirt and shrugs it on quietly. Brendon take another, quick drag and puts the cigarette out in the ashtray. He gets up off the bed.

“ What was that supposed to mean, Dallon?!” 

He's yelling at this point. They've argued before in the past but never had either of them raised their voice. Dallon buttons his shirt calmly, even though his heart is racing against his chest and the urge to get out of that room is screaming throughout his mind.

“ You can't handle being Mormon and gay and the conflict of the two is ripping you apart. You love your religion and you are comfortable with your sexuality but you won't let the two mutually exist.”

Brendon stares at Dallon with wide eyes. He feels like someone punched him in the stomach, ripped away the curtains and exposed his truth into the world. It's like he's standing on the Las Vegas strip and all the neon signs are pointing directly at him with his dilemma in lights.

How dare he do this.

Dallon puts on his boxers.

“ Fuck you.”

“ Why?” Dallon looks at Brendon and sighs. It is clear that he is done with this relationship. “ What did I do this time other than state the obvious?”

“ I am fine with who I am,” Brendon says, pointing to himself. “ I don't need some hypocrite telling me--”

Dallon cuts him off as if Brendon was not in the middle of a rant, “ I came out… to the Elders last week at my church.” Brendon’s eyes go wide. Dallon picks up his black slacks and shakes the wrinkles out of them. “ I told them I am gay. Or, well, I told them I have thoughts about men that I know I should not have.”

“ …. And what is going to happen?”

Dallon puts one pant leg on, “ I still preach. I can preach. I've been ordained, after all. It's… my family's calling.” He slips the other pant leg on, “ And I have decided to get married to a childhood friend. You know her. I think you met her a couple of times. Getting married has set things right.”

“ You're going to get married to a woman and you're fucking gay; how does that even work?” 

“ I can be attracted to men and still be married to a woman and have a family and follow the correct and righteous path set forth by the Lord.” Dallon pulls up his pants and zips them up. “ Besides, I decided that my obligation is to the church. This is what I have to do.”

Brendon feels exposed. He doesn't feel comfortable anymore being in the nude in front of this man. It's like he is standing in front of stranger. Dallon might as well be one because he doesn't recognize whoever this person is. He quickly walks into the bathroom and grabs a towel. He wraps it around his waist and tucks the end in, securing it in place. 

He steps out the bathroom, running his hands through his hair. Is this how it is going to end? Just like that? They always fought. It was a standard feature to the relationship. Dallon would get too close and Brendon would react negatively with a quip that he knew would get underneath Dallon’s skin in the worst of ways. Brendon made sure there was tension in their relationship just to avoid falling for him. He couldn't let himself succumb to sin. That was not happening.

So he should be happy, right? Dallon is finally leaving him for some woman he can barely remember. He doesn't have to worry about the emotional baggage outing him or making his life difficult by forcing him to admit to the reality of what he truly is. 

And it's not over another man. It's a woman. He lost this man to a woman.

Why does it hurt? Why does it feel like his heart is breaking? 

“ Y-you can't do this.” The words fall haphazardly from Brendon’s lips. Thick, heavy, and clunky. He stands firm, crosses his arms over his chest but it doesn't make up for the flustered quality to his voice, “ You can't just  _ leave _ me for another woman. You're  _ gay _ for Pete’s sake.”

“ There was nothing left to leave,” Dallon says with a finality that hits Brendon hard. “ You made that decision years ago. What we had was a sick and sad coping mechanism. I tried to make myself believe that it was more than that but I couldn't. Not anymore.

“ I thought we could have fixed things. I waited to see if something would change. But it only kept getting worst… and I had to make my own decision. And I get it, you have your family obligations and I have mine. We have our callings and this is simply an atonement.”

Brendon slowly walks over to Dallon. He reaches out, cupping the taller man’s face in his hands. He gently guides Dallon’s attention to him. He doesn't want to cry so he won't cry. He won't let Dallon win. He just wants Dallon to realize how stupid this all is.

“ Dallon, look. Look. This is good. We have problems but it's still good. The sex is good. The conversations are good. We are good.” Brendon searches Dallon’s eyes for something but all he sees is pitty.

Slowly, Dallon’s fingers wrap themselves around Brendon’s narrow wrists. He pulls Brendon’s hands away from his face.

“ We were never good, Brendon.”

Brendon clicks his tongue in annoyance. They were good. They are good. Dallon is just acting out again, reacting to Brendon's taunts -- that's all. He told him two weeks ago that they were over and yet, not even a week later, he was on his knees sucking his cock in a dirty hotel room in skid row. 

That would explain all of this. Dallon does not have the courage to leave Brendon, let alone confess to the church Elders about his sexuality and run off to marry the poor girl who seemed to not get a hint that the boy next door is a raging homosexual.

That's not who Dallon is.

But he’s seen that face on Dallon before. It isn't a face of frustration or disappointment. It's one of finality, of letting go. Dallon did tell them. There's no mistake in that.

“ Did you tell them about me?”

“ No. That's between you and the church.” Dallon pockets his tie.

“ How long then?”

“ What do you mean? How long have I been planning this? How long until the wedding?”

“ Both.”

Dallon looks up at the ceiling, mentally calculating the dates, then at Brendon. “ A few weeks for Breezy. A year for the wedding.”

So he decided to live a life of misery. He picked the church over whatever they had. There was a lot of outcomes Brendon could have accepted -- Dallon running off to some town in California and meeting a guy that'd make him happy; happier than he could ever do. That would have been fine. If he completely abstained from sex entirely to devote himself to the gospel, he would not have cared. But this? Leaving him to live a lie to appease the church? 

That was just unacceptable.

“ I can't… I can't continue like this. Without you.” Brendon struggles with the words. He does not want to tell Dallon what he knows the man wants to hear. I love you, please stay with me -- he just won't say them. 

Isn't action enough? Hasn't he done enough to prove this?

Dallon smiles. It's a sad smile; one filled with pity. He caresses Brendon’s right cheek, thumb lingering on his cheek bone. Unconsciously, Brendon leans into the touch.

“ You don't mean that.”

He gives him one last caress before pulling his hand away and walking away from Brendon to gather the rest of his things.

“ And even if you did,” Dallon continues as he grabs his wallet and keys off of the dresser next to the ancient television, “ It's not like we were going to last forever because you can't accept who you are. I would have eventually left.” He pauses, “ And I did.”

“ To live a lie with a beard.” Brendon spits venomously. Dallon sighs.

“ I genuinely like her and it looks like God has put her there for a reason. I trust her and she trusts me. A marriage is more than just sexual attraction. It's a bond, a seal of two souls. I don't need to be sexually attracted to her to live a life right by God.”

“ She's going to suffer because of it. No marriage is successful without sex.”

Dallon doesn't say anything for a few moments. He looks down at his hands resting on the dresser, then, “ I will try to be a good husband to her.”

“ Why did you just hesitate now?”

Dallon ignores Brendon, walking past him to the door of the hotel room, “ There are support groups for us in the church, Brendon. I will continue to follow my path and I hope you do as well.” 

He doesn't think when he turns around and rushes at Dallon. He grabs onto the taller man’s biceps as leverage and kisses him hard on the mouth. He presses his full lips against Dallon, enough to bruise, moving them and trying to coax a response from him.

It doesn't take long. Dallon responds, opening his mouth slightly so that Brendon can deepen the kiss. They just stand there, one pressed against the door, the other pressed against the other man’s body, clinging onto him as if he'll fade away into the wind. 

And maybe he is. Maybe he is fading away.

Their tongues move lazily against each other. There's a familiarity to the kiss that is a second nature but there's also a sense of finality. This is it. It's over. Brendon won't be able to taste him anymore. Feel him. Touch him.

Dallon breaks the kiss, but Brendon still tries to Pepper his lips with pecks as Dallon pulls away, chasing the sweet, drying nectar he's consumed for so many years. Brendon relents, bowing his head and licking his lips. Dallon reaches behind him, his fingers weaving through Brendon’s dark hair, and pulls him close against body. He rests his chin on top of his head as his fingers played with the strands.

“ You need to find your truth, Brendon.” He places a kiss on top of head, “ God has His plan for you.”

Dallon gently pulls Brendon off of him and the younger man steps back. Brendon forces himself to look at him, despite the constricting feeling in his chest, the tightening of his throat, and the tears he can feel gathering in the corners of his eyes. He must look pathetic to Dallon right now.

Never once did they ever cry while in each other's presence. 

It looks like Brendon would be the first to do so.

Dallon opens the door, and before leaving, gently wipes away the silent tears that falling down his lover’s face. He smiles one last smile before leaving Brendon alone in the hotel room. Brendon watches Dallon walk away until the door closes and obstructs his view with a silent click. 

He wipes his eyes and quickly makes his way around the room, picking up his clothes off the floor and putting them on with an aggressive haste. As if he's trying to beat the urge to break down, fighting for composure by putting on his clothes.

What was he going to now? The first relationship he's ever had had just ended. The man that, despite all his denial, he loved walked out on him. Gave up their relationship for the Church. Just so he could live open with his sexuality under the guidelines of the church. What they had wasn't enough. Why wasn't Dallon happy with what they had?

Didn't he understand that it couldn't work out the way he wanted?

Didn't he understand that they needed to just keep this under wraps because what they had was sin?

Brendon puts on his tie, already dressed, and stares at the smartphone lying on the nightstand next to his pack of cigarettes and Zippo lighter. He frowns; they had something good. They had something great and Dallon wasn't appreciative of it. Dallon wanted too much.

He always wanted more than what Brendon could actually give.

He grabs the cell phone and throws it across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the floor, the screen shattering instantly. He covers his mouth with one hand, breathing heavily as the tears that he refused to show now started to fall. The walls of the room feel like they're closing in on him. It's getting harder to breath. 

Why did he do this. Why? Why?  _ Why _ ?

When was he going to tell him? Before or after he announces to the world that he was going to get married? How long was he going to string Brendon along before cutting the line and abruptly letting him go? It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

Dallon knew. He knew that to Brendon, he was all that he had in this world. He must have known that so why did he …. He had to have known that Brendon loved him in some broken, twisted way. Right?

He drops to his knees and finally succumbs to his grief, crouching over, clutching onto his shirt with one hand as the other muffled his cries.

Brendon had always thought that he'd break Dallon. In the end, it was Dallon who broke him.

***

She's a pretty girl.

Not drop dead gorgeous but pretty. Prettier than average. Definitely one of the prime picks.

He doesn't know why he didn't remember her before when he was first introduced to her at a party so many years ago. Probably because she wasn't a threat to him; he didn't think that the girl with the ponytail would turn out to be the future wife of his lover. It was not exactly the first thing Brendon would have thought of when he shook her hands, knowing just before arriving at the party, he had her best friend between his legs working magic with a talented tongue in the backseat of a Honda Civic. 

It is definitely the first thing going through his mind as he shakes her hand again in the lobby of their church, years later. Dallon has an arm wrapped right around her waist; close enough to look intimate but innocent enough to be modest. His hand rests against her hip gently. They’re dressed in their Sunday best; Dallon in a grey suit and tie and his fiance in a pale canary yellow dress. There's a ring on her finger with a small diamond, an obvious sign that she's engaged to the good looking young preacher.

They look like the perfect couple. It makes him sick.

“ So... congratulations on your engagement,” Brendon says. Breezy looks at Dallon with a smile and he looks down at her. “ He's a lucky catch.”

“ Thank you, Brendon. I'm so happy to be his wife.” She looks at Brendon and he shifts enough that Dallon notices.

More parishioners step into the church, and the three adults step aside to give them unblocked access to the church. Some offer their congratulations to the newly engaged couple as they walk by. 

“ When did he propose? How was it like? We don't talk much these days so I am a bit curious as to how it all went down.”

“ Two weeks ago, on a Saturday. He took me out to movies and a dinner. He proposed right before taking me home. I couldn't believe it because I didn't quite think he regarded me in that way.”

“ What do you mean?”

Breezy leans forward, cupping a hand around her mouth so that no one but Brendon could hear, “ His SSA, you know? I knew he had it… He told me back in High School but… I didn't think… well…. It doesn't matter. He's never acted on it.”

Brendon raises an eyebrow and looks at Dallon with skepticism. So she doesn't know the truth. Just a bunch of half truths and purposefully withheld information. She stands there with the biggest smile, wrapped in the embrace of her tall, blue eyed prince not knowing that the man standing in front of her was his lover for over a half decade.

She doesn't know they had fucked just days prior. She doesn't know that he broke up with him. 

She doesn't know anything.

He probably would have continued their little fling had Brendon not driven that final knife in, ultimately killing whatever they had.

Dallon is as much of a hypocrite as Brendon was.

The preacher pulls Breezy closer to him, as if using her as a shield against the accusing look Brendon was giving him, “ God has his ways. We were meant for each other, regardless of whatever tribulations may be in our way.”

“ Exactly,” Breezy nods, oblivious to the tension between the two men, “ God put this man here for me to marry and I was out here to be his wife. Regardless of… who he is. There is no other truth than that.”

No other truth. Hilarious. 

He cried over this man and for what? Dallon was right. There was never anything there to begin with.

“ Well,” Brendon gives them one more smile, though he is looking at Dallon, “ Congratulations and may God bless you and your marriage.”

Breezy gives him her gratitude while Dallon forces a smile, echoing his fiance’s words.

Brendon leaves them, walking away with a nagging frustration eating at his inner core. Parishioners greet him and he greets them back, some trying to make small conversation with one of the church’s most prolific members, but he eases out of them quickly as he makes his way towards the front row of the pews.

There sits his family: mother, father, and his older brother all in their Sunday best. Some of the church members are talking with his brother, trying to catch up on lost time, and they don't notice Brendon standing next to the pew. His mother looks up and sees her son. She smiles, immediately pulling her son’s hand into hers

“ Brendon! You've finally came to join us in the front!” She says excitedly. 

“ Well, I heard that Dallon was going to lead part of the service today so I figured I'd offer some support.” 

“ Oh that's right! He's speaking here today,” Sam says, his attention now on his little brother and not the people he's taking to. “ You two are like best friends, right?”

Brendon nods, a small but forced smile on his features, “ Yeah. We both were going to pursue priesthood together.”

“ It's such a shame you didn't continue,” One of the parishioners say with a smile, looking at Brendon. She’s an older woman, slightly overweight with grey peppered throughout her brown hair and has been attending the church as long as he could remember. “ You would have been such a great priest.”

Brendon shrugs, “ Well, it's like they say, ‘ Many are called, but few are chosen.’”

Everyone nods in agreement, as if it makes complete and total sense. Of course Brendon didn't become an ordained priest; he simply wasn't chosen by God. It had nothing to do with his brother Samuel refusing to take over the business and being forced to undertake the responsibilities. God simply did not pick Brendon and that was that.

The service began as any other Sunday would. Elder Price spoke of care and loving one’s neighbor like a brother. The choir sung hymns and the parishioners joined them, all knowing the words by heart without need of the hymns book. Then the young preacher steps up to the podium. A young man from the sister church a town away who came to deliver a special sermon on atonement.

And Brendon sits on that front pew and watches him. He watches as he delivers the words of God to the people with charisma and conviction. And they listen, oh does the church listen. Brendon pays attention as well, but he's not listening to the words, he's noticing how Dallon doesn't look at him. How his eyes wander the hall but never at the man sitting directly in front of him in a charcoal grey suit and tie.

He watches him and mentally laughs at the hypocrisy. How can someone stand up there, ordained by God, and speak with such lies. He sleeps with a man, marries a woman, and speaks from the pulpit as if he is absolved from sin.

“ We are to suffer the penalties of our sins,” Dallon preaches, “ In order for us to atone and reconcile ourselves with God.”

And what would that penalty be? Does Dallon believe he's suffered the penalty of his sin? Has he made his atonement by marrying and subduing his sexual urges and attraction to the same sex? What an odd topic to present to the church considering his own past with a certain predominant member of this church.

Brendon doesn't see him after he steps down from the pulpit and rejoins his fiancé in the front row of the adjacent pew. He doesn't see the two leave the church or notice when their car, a modest Hyundai Sonata, drives out of the parking lot with a bit more speed than necessary.

It's the first Sunday of many that he spends without him.

***

“ Hey, did you hear the news?”

“ What news, Spence?”

“ Your ex just had a kid. It's all over Facebook.”

“ I don't think it's possible for a man to have a child.”

“ You know what I mean, Brendon.”

Brendon rolls his eyes. Spencer ignores him, swiping through his Facebook feed. On the desk is Spencer’s therapist nameplate. He only takes it out when Brendon comes into his office wanting to ‘talk’.

Two years.

It's been two years since the day Dallon Weekes walked out of his life to atone for his sins and do right by the church. After the service, he immediately went home and erased anything connecting him to Dallon from his phone. His contacts, text messages, even photos. Then he went through his apartment, throwing out photographs and mementos. He wiped his social media.

There was the wedding. A beautiful white and silver invitation was mailed to his apartment. But he didn't go. He refused to witness a sham being blessed by God. He saw the pictures -- beautiful white dress, a nice custom tailored tuxedo and innocent chaste kisses on cheeks in front of the temple where they were sealed for all eternity.

Hypocrites.

“ What is it? Boy?”

“ Nah,” More swiping, “ A girl.”

“ Nice.”

Spencer puts the phone down, “ Don't sound too excited.”

Brendon scoffs and crosses his arms, “ What? I am happy for them.”

His partner raises an conspicuous eyebrow but doesn't add anything further, instead deciding to lean back in his work chair and prop his feet on top of his desk. One leg over the other, black socks covered with patterns of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. For a man with an MBA, his affinity towards collecting socks with childhood cartoon characters on them really seemed weird to Brendon.

Who wears Pokémon themed socks to work? Spencer Smith does.

“ I would say it's been two years blah, blah, blah -- but, I think you already know that.”

“ There was nothing there. Only you have this delusion that we were some star crossed lovers. _Only_ _you.”_

Spencer holds out his hand. He shakes it out, palm first, in front of Brendon so he could get a good look. Then, he begins to count off what he considers undeniable proof that Brendon was, in fact, in love with Dallon one finger at a time.

“ You didn't go to the wedding. You apparently removed him off your social media. You deleted his contact from your phone. And you haven't gone out and dated anyone since then.” He flexes his five fingers. “ I’d say there was something there.”

Brendon tighten his jaw and uncrosses his arms. He does not look impressed and Spencer knows this. The younger man laughs at his friend’s expense, taking his feet off the table and sitting up. He pulls his chair forward.

“ I'm telling you there was nothing there. If there was, he wouldn't have left me to live whatever life he's living.”

“ I know you, Brendon. You forced him away. You’ve complained about the situation for years and he finally had enough of it. It’s like the saying goes, ‘ Don’t cry over spilt milk ‘ -- especially when you’re the one that purposefully tipped the glass.” Spencer picks up his phone and unlocks the screen. He glances at his Facebook feed and looks at the picture of the newly made family, “ He looks happy. Or he's found peace with whatever he's dealing with. You need to do the same.”

Spencer shows the screen to Brendon. It’s small, and he can barely make sense of the image. But he recognizes that face -- that smile -- as the man in the photo smiles at the bundle of joy in his arms. It was the same smile he would give Brendon all those years ago when Brendon was too afraid to let their relationship go that extra step. When he realized that Dallon had loved him. 

If he could go back in time to that night at Dallon’s apartment when the man had confessed his feelings and suggested that they’d run away and leave everything behind. If he could take back what he said that night and say yes -- just nod his head, pack his bags, and  _ go _ …. He would. He would do it in a heartbeat; no questions asked.

Unfortunately, time machines do not exist. People simply have to move on and learn from their mistakes. Some mistakes, though, are harder to learn from than others.

“ And how would you do that? If you were me, how would find your quote, unquote peace?”

“ Everyone is different, Bren. I’d try to find myself. Figure out who I am.”

“ I know who I am, Spence.”

“ No, I don’t think you know. If you did, I’m sure you’d be out and about fucking every single guy on two legs that cross your path. If you were sure about yourself, you wouldn’t even be here right now. James Davenport would be sitting there. Anyway,” Spencer reaches over his desk and picks up the ‘therapist’ name plate. He opens his drawer and tosses it in unceremoniously. “ I have a meeting in fifteen minutes that I'd like to prepare for.”

He slams the drawer shut. Brendon stands up and tugs at the ends of his jacket before smoothing the wrinkles out with his hands.

It's funny how people make things sound so easy when they're not the ones dealing with it.

***

People adapt to situations in unique ways.

Some fly home to their parents house and seek advice. Some marry their best friend's and try to abstain from sexual relationships. Some just accept their fate and follow in the footsteps of their forefathers.

And some, well, they take more of an unorthodox approach.

The wig looks nice. It fits well, at least. Snug where it counts, not too tight or too loose. The synthetic fibers give it a glossy shine that screams cheap but it's not frizzy like a cheap party wig from a pop up Halloween shop in the mall. It frames his face nicely, softening the more masculine traits of his face, while bringing attention to the more feminine appeals.

It works. 

He picks up the lipstick off of the bathroom counter. He takes off the cap and slowly twists the red lipstick open. He applies the lipstick to his lips gently, adding more to his plump bottom lip. He puts his lips together, just like he remembered seeing his mother do as a child, and puts the lipstick down. He looks at his reflection again.

This… works.

He continues: eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara… Until he's satisfied with what he's accomplished. 

Brendon steps back until he can get a good view of himself in the mirror. A naked tone, yet thin body stands in the reflection. He takes a look at his face and the wig.

The man in the mirror… that's a different person. 

There’s a loud bang followed by a woman yelling and a man yelling back. It startles him, enough for him to pull the wig off of his head and quickly smear the thick layer of lipstick off his lips. He holds the wig in his left hand and slowly holds his neck as he breathes heavily, trying to feel his pulse and make sure he's not about to suffer from an anxiety attack.

Who in their right mind would lock themselves up in a motel on the wrong side of town to play dress up. Brendon was beginning to doubt he was going to be able to have the courage to go through with it.

But.

This wasn't Brendon.

This was someone else.

He had thought about it. Spent weeks grinding away at the idea. There was no way Brendon Urie could exist in this world as he was. There was no way for that person to live a peaceful and happy laugh with so much burden and guilt on his shoulders. There had to be a justification for it. An outlet. A release. A different  _ person _ who could do the things he could not do.

A person who wasn't conflicted. Who wasn't  _ confused  _ about who they were. A person that wasn't hiding behind a lie, trying to live a life planned by others other the pretense that it was God’s plan. 

A person that embodied everything that Brendon was not. 

And this person would never run away and hide. 

Brendon puts the wig back on. He reapplies the lipstick, removing the smeared lipstick from the side of his mouth with a damp tissue. He checks his makeup, make sures that it’s decent enough and steps out the bathroom. There, on the bed greeting him, is a black cocktail dress and panties. On the floor are a pair of simple black pumps. All purchases he made online, delivered directly to the motel under a pseudonym. 

He quickly puts them on. Slips on the panties and steps into the dress. He pulls the zipper up, feeling the fabric cling to his frame as the zipper inches closed. He steps into the shoes and almost stumbles forward from the lack of balance. They weird against his feet and the strain on his calf muscles is something he’s going to need to get used to. Brendon walks around the room a few times to get used to the sensation then grabs the small black purse containing a pack of Newports, a lighter, and condoms. 

He swallows inhibition. He gathers the courage to open the door and leaves that motel room.

The streets smell like urine. The corners are covered with night workers and drug dealers. Broken glass crack under the weight of high heels as he walks down the sidewalk, conscious of the attention he’s getting from the people on the street. He’s not the first crossdresser to work the corner in Skid Row, but it’s obvious he’s the newest addition to the neighborhood.

He doesn't know what he's doing.

But he won't let  _ them _ know that.

Brendon stops to grab a cigarette from his purse. He reaches into his purse for a cigarette and a lighter. He puts the cigarette between his lips and lights it. His fingers are shaking. The nerves just won’t leave him alone. He inhales slowly as he puts his lighter back in the purse.

“ Hey, you.” A car pulls up to the side of the road. It's a decent one; probably middle class. Obviously married.

Brendon exhales the smoke and walks over to the car. The john lowers the window further and leans over the panel. A middle aged man, probably just got off work, a ring on his finger -- very married.

“ Yes?” He doesn't even bother to conceal his voice. It's not like he's trying to convince the people out here he's a woman. It’s obvious by the makeup and the wig, let alone the legs and the discomfort from the heels that this was obviously a man in a dress.

The john isn't startled, though. He knows exactly what he wants.

“ What's your name?”

Brendon takes a longer drag. 

Who am I?

Who do I want to be?

He exhales the smoke, and then with a wicked smile, “ I'm Samantha, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> after writing [you make me sweat](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11843652), i felt like i needed to expand on it a bit. so here's a prequel to brendon's story. i will probably write ryan's story later. 
> 
> oh yeah! brallon! whoa....
> 
> this story draws heavily from the lyrics, ' don't go crying over spilt perfume / it smells like shit to you '. the character of brendon in this universe complains, likes to focus fault on everyone else but doesn't necessarily see himself as the problem. he's not really happy with his whole situation but yet he's crying over it all. thus, he shouldn't be crying because it's all shit to him, anyway. even his relationship with dallon is superfluous. i don't believe he ever was in love with dallon but rather he was in love with the idea of being in love with dallon, if that makes any sense. 
> 
> the stress of his family coupled with his religious guilt and the eventual fall out with dallon is what drives brendon to create a dual personality as a sexual release.
> 
> as for dallon's situation. i was doing some research on the lds church and homosexuality in general and found out apparently it is quite common to find marriages like this. in fact, the lds church promotes a marriage in which the husband is gay (or bisexual) and is married to a woman and has had a family with this person. because of this marriage, the husband is able to like... work through his sexuality issues. or whatever. it was just an interesting read and i decided to use that as a plot point.
> 
> who knows what dallon's sexuality is in the story. the story takes the position that this relationship is the first for the two men and it's a long and frantic one. dallon in fact loves breezy and i don't think brendon can understand that love has no gender preference. again, this is probably due to the fact that brendon only allows himself to be in 'love' with the idea of love but abhorrent to the act of love.
> 
> i apologise if i offended anyone with this story. it was a challenge write. it took me nearly a month to write it in a way that i feel comfortable and satisfied with.
> 
> comments and kudos appreciated. thanks for reading!


End file.
